Thursday, June 23, 2016


Either the late 1980's or very early 1990's in Guadalajara, Mexico.

The then brown-haired, brownish-red bearded Catalyst and a new member of the family, the late and lamented new kitten Chulapay (Spanglish for Cutie Pie).

The picture was taken on our enclosed but open to the sky patio.

Chulapay used to climb up the wrought-iron window frames to the roof.

Once she disappeared for several days.

We posted pictures of her on utility poles and went around the neighborhood calling for her and asking people if they had seen her, to no avail.

Suddenly she appeared once again on our patio.

We assume she wandered over the adjoining roofs and got into someone's storage shed or closet without them knowing it and became shut in.

She refused to tell us where she had been.

This was a little later as she warmed herself under my desk lamp while supervising whatever I was doing.

She came back to El Norte with us in 1991 and survived Austin, Texas during which our apartment was flooded.

Then we brought her with us back to Arizona and she survived three more moves before she had to be put down.

We still remember her and I sometimes absent-mindedly call one of our two present cats by her name.

They just think I'm old and demented.

Wednesday, June 22, 2016


Along with the heat we've been experiencing there is still the drought in Arizona.

As the t.v. guys keep saying "Much of the Southwest is a tinder box."

Here are some pictures I shot recently in my area which illustrate the dry conditions.

Tuesday, June 21, 2016


A tale from my life of crime . . .

From mid 1987 until late 1991, SWMBO and I lived in Mexico as ex-pat retirees.

We went to Mexico on a tourist visa which was good for six months.

That meant we had to make a trip to the United States and then return to Mexico with new papers every six months.

Most of the time that was fine.

A nice trip to the land of milk and honey to do some shopping for items we couldn't find in Mexico at that time, like cheddar cheese and regular-size Vitamin C and a Sunday New York Times.

We would occasionally visit friends in the States, maybe go to a restaurant for a good steak, have a good time before heading back to our new home, over a thousand miles below the border, in Guadalajara.

But one time the trip to El Norte, as the time drew near, began to seen onerous.

One of my new friends in Mexico said I could buy papers right here in Guadalajara and not go to the border.

It was understood that these papers were forgeries of the official documents but were said to be perfectly passable.

So I decided to do it and was given an address in downtown Guadalajara.

(Guadalajara was the second largest city in Mexico at the time, about four million people strong.)

I parked my car in the garage at the huge downtown market, walked down the cement stairs and crossed through the market, past butcher shops where the heads of sheep and pigs were on display, past many small food stands, past every thing under the sun that could be sold.

Out on the street, I walked another block or so and found the address I had been given.

An open doorway with a young man idling in it (standing guard?) led to a steep and dark stairway.

I climbed the steps and found an office with several more young men standing around, staring at me.

Eventually I was escorted to an inner office where a very old man was seated at a desk.

I gave him my information, he told me a price and said to come back in a week.

I did, paid him the fee in cash and was handed my new papers.

Then I retraced my steps once more and drove home with a smile on my face.

I was good for another six months.

But my experience had me nervous, not sure if I was going to be robbed, beaten up, or worse, arrested by police posing as a forgery ring.

I never did it again.

The six month drive to the border was more preferable than the (imagined?) danger of buying fake papers.

That was many years ago in a foreign country.

I think the statute of limitations (if there is such a thing in Mexico) has passed by now.

Monday, June 20, 2016


The Weather Gods tell us it will get to 106 degrees Fahrenheit here today.

It's already 93 at 9:30 in the morning.

Phoenix, about 90 miles away, is supposed to hit 115.

So what does my dear, dear friend Tom do?

He posts pictures of the fog they've been enjoying over on the Pacific Coast!

Rub it in, Tommy!

Well we have a way to beat the heat here too.

Take that, buddy boy.

And this, too.

You can keep your fog.

I'm feeling a lot cooler now.

Sunday, June 19, 2016

UH, DAD???

Happy Father's Day!

Saturday, June 18, 2016


Last Saturday I visited one of Prescott's many summer festivals on the Square.

I always stroll by the several food booths at these affairs to see what's new.

This was one I'd never seen before.

Up from the Old Pueblo (Tucson) an Oriental stand selling steamed buns, stuffed with a variety of fillings.

It was enjoying quite a bit of popularity.

I can never resist photographing this stand, not because I like tamales (I don't) but because of the great name.

This weekend the temperature is forecast to climb over 100 degrees with daily highs near or above the century mark for the next week at least.

Just in time this weekend there is a Monsoon Festival at the square with a two-block long water slide to take up the attention of young and old alike.

Friday, June 17, 2016


Well, we have come to the denouement of another week.

I like using big words like "denouement" once in awhile to prove how smart I am.

Then I go to Google and look them up to see what they mean.


It is time for this week's edition of what you waded through Sunday through Thursday for.

The Friday Funnies!

And speaking of words, Auntie Acid has a thought.

When I show you two Auntie Acid cartoons in one day, I know it's time to wrap it up.

Have a supercalifragilisticexpialidocious weekend, Gentle Readers, and always remember to keep laughing!

Here, kitty-kitty.

Thursday, June 16, 2016


This was the home of Frank Berry in Faribault, Minnesota.

He was my great-grandfather, the father of my grandmother, Daisy Berry Taylor.

She gave birth to my father, Franklin Berry Taylor, and my uncle, Zenas Howland Taylor, in a room at the top of the house.

The window up there gave plenty of light.

This was Daisy.

When the two brothers, four years apart in age, had grown they were photographed in Stanley, North Dakota with their parents.

My mother, Hattie Loretta Hylland, and dad were married in 1927.

This may have been their wedding picture.

They were so serious!

I like this next one, which I call their Bonnie and Clyde photograph.

They honeymooned for several months on what was called The Cooper Ranch, south of Stanley.

Many years later someone shot a picture of the by then rundown and overgrown ranch house.

But when they spent that year there, apparently the days were idyllic.

Good times, long, long ago.

Wednesday, June 15, 2016


While strolling around the Territorial Days Arts and Crafts Fair last Saturday, I couldn't resist taking a photograph of this beautiful Basset Hound.

He was surrounded by fair-goers most of the time but he was perfectly mannered.

His sad eyes tell me he's thinking "Dang-blast that guy who used to sing 'You ain't nothin' but a hound dog.'"

Tuesday, June 14, 2016


As the old song goes . . "Don't get around much any more."

But I did voyage the 8 miles into Prescott on Saturday to visit (among other things) the Territorial Days Arts and Crafts Fair.

It included a trip back in time to the days of tie-dye.

Still popular it seems.

There were tchotchkes of all kinds on view and for sale.

And some fine art, like this pottery from Mata Ortiz, in Chihuahua, Mexico.

As I told one lady visiting from Tucson, there is an event on the Courthouse Square nearly every weekend all summer long.

As you can see in the background of the next photo, its big trees and grassy lawn make it a great place to relax throughout the hot season and, perhaps, just listen to some music from the Yavapai Brass Quintet.

Monday, June 13, 2016


Classic car shows seem to be a regular event in our car-crazy culture.

There was one in the parking lot at a local Sam's Club on Saturday.

This Purple People Eater had a modified radiator cap to scare people from getting too close.

The owner of another car may have had a tiger in his tank.

For sure he had one standing guard over his treasured vehicle.

The owner of this beautiful orange Camaro convertible had the original price sticker stuck in one window.

You could have driven this off the lot for less than five thousand dollars.

Remember this long sleek car from 1960?

It's the Chevy Impala.

I had a new one in 1961.

There was a classy looking red Jeepster.

It seems funny to me that a car from 1977 would now be considered a historic vehicle.

There were some older models.

This one supposedly belonged to a gangster who carried a big ball-peen hammer with him to enforce his rule.

After he got out of prison, so the story goes, he changed his ways and drove a Good Humor truck for the rest of his life.

An early low-rider!

This one was from 1923. 

(The car, that is.)

As I said at the beginning of this post, there seems to always be a car show going on in this area.

One of the owners displayed proof from a couple of years ago on his back.

His car, incidentally, was probably my favorite of the day.

As his fellow car owners would probably say: "Sweet!"

Sunday, June 12, 2016


Saturday was a special day in Prescott for Western History buffs.

Four prominent writers formed a panel for a discussion and book signing at the Peregrine book store.

The room, which can hold about 100 people, was standing room only for the event.

The authors, shown here from left to right, are Bob Boze Bell, Paul Hedren, Paul Andrew Hutton and Robert Marshal Utley.

Bell is well-known as a native of Kingman, an artist and a writer, and the owner and publisher of True West magazine in Cave Creek.

Hedren is retired as superintendent of the National Park Service and the author of a new book, "Powder River: Disastrous Opening of the Great Sioux War".

Hutton is a professor at the University of New Mexico, a television personality and the author of "The Apache Wars".

And Utley is the former Chief Historian for the National Park Service and the author of nearly two dozen books, including his latest which compares the lives of Billy the Kid and the Irish activist attempting to overthrow Queen Victoria's rule in Australia, Ned Kelly.

Each of the four men gave presentations on their work and on Western history.

One interesting note was when Bell was asked by a member of the audience if he had any knowledge of the outlaw and member of the James gang, Cole Younger,  having spent time in Arizona.

Bell said he had never heard that but promised to research it.

All in all, for aficionados of the history of the Old West, a most satisfying afternoon.